The journey from the jet to the quietly idling limousine had been a quick one. So immersed in attempting to sort her thoughts, Sabrina, as if on auto-pilot, gracefully ducked inside the vehicle without giving so much as a cursory glance to the driver who held open the door for her. Had she taken a moment to do so, she would have noticed he was not the standard chauffeur used to transport her to and from her usual travels. Rather, this was a driver whose pedigree was exceptional—a word easily associated with the value of the “precious cargo” he was charged with chauffeuring about town…

“Welcome back, dear heart!”

The only thing even remotely as stunning as the regal picture a Valentino-clad Faith Ward Cassadine presented as she rested comfortably within the confines of the custom, ridiculously armored limousine was the look of complete and utter shock which graced Sabrina’s face as she slid into place on the seat next to her upon entering the vehicle’s cab.

“F-F-Faith?” she stammered. “What are you doing here?”

“My day at Ward Software concluded…,” Faith’s cryptic reply was couched amid a small, polite smile, “shall we say...earlier than I had anticipated.” Sabrina recognized the statement as the “shorthand” her beloved sister engaged in whenever responding to her Dear Heart’s handiwork at play with regards to what Stefan viewed as Faith’s unreasonable schedule.

It mattered not to the Greco-Russian billionaire that said schedule was indicative of a pace Faith had been operating at since her teenage years, when she first showed an interest in technology and computers. Nor did it sway him that Faith had built from the ground up and helmed for over a decade one of the most lucrative software companies in the world. And it most certainly earned her no favor with him that she was not on a “short list” but in fact she was the short list when it came to technology innovations by software contractors the government was vying for the rights to.

No, all that Stefan knew, and all that mattered to him was that simply put, before the defiant beauty entered his life he merely existed; she not only gave him life, she was his life—and he could not even begin to comprehend an existence without her. Thus, the responsibility – viewed by the chosen sentry as an honor – to safeguard his most precious treasure was bestowed upon his head of security, Yuri Petrov; the deadliest and most valued weapon in the Cassadine arsenal when it came to security.

Faith did not delude herself when it came to her husband’s nature; she was fully aware that if Stefan Cassadine had his way she—his Beloved—would never venture away from Wyndemere and would instead conduct what scant amount of business he would allow her to preside over from within the considerably fortified walls of the Spoon Island estate.

“I had been made aware of your return earlier this morning by my Dear Heart, and I thought it would be a lovely surprise to greet you upon your arrival and venture into the City for an early supper.”

“But…is not Stefan expecting you back at Wyndemere?”

“Dear heart?” The arch of Faith’s brow inched precariously close to her hairline. “That was not a request.”

“Of…course…of course,” Sabrina nodded.

Faith placed a bejeweled hand atop Sabrina’s, giving the expanse a gentle pat. “Trust me, Sabryn, when I tell you the more time that is allowed to elapse between your brother and I coming face to face today, the better.” Faith then offered up a smile that was nothing short of glacial. “For him.” She smoothly switched to Russian, addressing the silent ever-present sentry seated opposite her, Yuri Petrov. “Krome togo, ya tak i ne udalos' podnyat' vashe krovyanoye davleniye v techeniye dnya , Petrov ,” she observed wryly. {Besides, I have not managed to raise your blood pressure for the day, Petrov.} “Ya schitayu, chto eto budet sluzhit' dostoynoy popytkoy , net, Yuriy ?” {I do believe this will serve as a decent attempt, no, Yuri?}

“Nyet.”

Upon hearing Faith’s bodyguard speak, Sabrina’s cheeks began to flush as she realized her egregious slight. “My apologies, Yuri. Good evening,” she replied. As he always did, especially when in the presence of his sole charge, Faith, the stone-faced sentinel merely responded with an imperceptible yet curt nod. “You know what? This is great,” Sabrina declared, “I have both of you here so this is perfect!”

“And why would that be so, dear heart?”

“Um, I need to know about security. Hotel security,” she clarified, turning her attention to Yuri. “Specifically, is there surveillance in place at any of the family holdings? If so, what type? Audio? Video? Both? Or are only certain areas under certain types of surveillance?”

“Yesli takoy bezopasnosti sushchestvovala ,” Petrov began, “ i ya ne govoryu, eto proizoydet, spetsifika potrebuyetsya. Mesta , daty, vremya.” {If such security existed, and I am not saying it does, specifics would be required. Locations, dates, times.}

“Zi̱tó̱ syngnó̱mi̱ , páli , Yuri,” Sabrina responded in Greek, “allá ro̱siká mou den eínai tóso áptaista ópo̱s tha éprepe na eínai.” {My apologies, again, Yuri, but my Russian is not as fluent as it should be.}

“Net, eto ne tak,” he responded, still speaking his mother tongue. {No it is not.} “Miss Sabrina,” he added, his flint-like gaze impassive.

Barely suppressing her smile, Faith gracefully turned away; she appeared to suddenly be enthralled by some activity taking place amid the passing scenery. She was confident Sabrina knew better than to solicit assistance from her; that her headstrong young sister was fully aware, Matriarch or not, Faith would not intervene in this matter. For Faith to attempt to offer a translation of Yuri’s statement, no matter how well-intentioned, her actions would be seen—and rightfully so—as a sign of disrespect; tantamount to usurping Petrov’s authority.

That the scene currently unfolding—in addition to amusing her immensely—only served to highlight Stefan’s continual warnings to Sabrina that she was doing herself a grave disservice by not learning their mother tongue was merely an added bonus for Faith.

Sabrina cleared her throat, inhaled slowly, and tried to focus. Fuck! Her Russian was about as good as her damn non-existent Mandarin. Another language Stefan no doubt felt it was “beneficial” for her to have learned!

Centering her thoughts she acknowledged it was not only fruitless but unreasonable to be frustrated with Yuri for speaking his native tongue. Granted, he was as fluent in Greek as was she; but truly, was it his problem that in her arrogance and desire to slight her family she had refused to learn her family’s mother tongue? No, if she was frustrated, that emotion should be targeted in one direction and one direction only—towards herself. Not Yuri.

Sabrina respected Yuri; not only for his discipline, but his loyalty to her brother (and the Cassadine family), as well as his work ethic that was beyond reproach. But, simply put she also possessed a healthy fear of him if for no other reason than the sheer carnage he was capable of unleashing—and was reported to have wreaked in times past—at her brother’s behest.

“Yuriy, mne nuzhno znat', u nas v gostinitse ... bezopasnost'? Vy mozhete poluchit' dostup i sdelat' ... dublirovat' ?” {Yuri, I need to know do we have hotel…security? You can access and make…duplicate?}

Satisfaction flickered briefly across the lethal Russian’s rugged features. It was, he noted silently, just as Master Stefan had always instilled when it came to the young Mistress, like her older sister Natasha, she would only produce the desired result when forced to—and only then when confronted with a will and strength greater than her own.

“Da,” Yuri nodded. He held up a hand and continued in flawless Greek. “Eán i̱ epití̱ri̱si̱ ypí̱rche – kai den léo̱ óti to kánei – ypárchoun polloí parágontes pou exetázoun . Eidiká tha prépei na apaiteítai , ópo̱s i̱meromi̱níes , ó̱res kai topothesíes ...” {If such surveillance existed – and I am not saying that it does – there are numerous factors to consider. Specifics would be required, such as dates, times, and locations…}

“Málista,” Sabrina nodded. {I see.} “Ómo̱s, i̱ parakoloúthi̱si̱ tha boroúse na prosengisteí ?̱ Íso̱s, off-site , an chreiasteí ? Eán , fysiká , éna tétoio prágma ypí̱rche ...” {But the surveillance could be accessed; perhaps, off-site, if need be? If, of course, such a thing existed…}

Yuri gave an imperceptible nod of his head. “Akrivó̱s.” {Exactly.}

For the first time since leaving Maison Blanche, Sabrina smiled. A smile of genuine contentment.


Author's Note: The character of Yuri Petrov was created by and appears with the permission of jrsgirl

Casting: Yuri Petrov—Daniel Craig (Skyfall; The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo; Casino Royale)